


The Cutie with the Sketchbook

by conceptstage



Series: Single Chapter Critical Role [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 07:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19848130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptstage/pseuds/conceptstage
Summary: Beau says something when she thinks the mics are off but Jester doesn't seem to mind.





	The Cutie with the Sketchbook

There’s nothing worse than going from the unparalleled high of winning the championship to sitting on a stage while reporters shout questions at you. Beau stared out into the crowd, idly messing with the mic cord under the table with her feet. Yasha, her teammate and closest friend (and ex-girlfriend technically, but whatever), was sitting next to her and kept giving Beau stern looks whenever she could tell that Beau was about to pop from the energy gathering inside of her. All she wanted was to change into something that she didn’t mind getting blood on and going to get drunk out of her mind and Yasha could tell, occasionally poking her hard in the side to bring her back to the present.

“Miss Lionett!” One of the reporters called over the clamouring. The host looked at her and nodded and Beau cleared her throat.

“ **Uh, yeah** ?” Her voice echoed loudly through the speakers that filled the room.

“What are looking forward to the most going back as champion?”

She opened her mouth to say something snarky and Yasha poked her hard in the side. “ **O-** w!” she exclaimed, fliching. Her foot had gotten tangled in the cord she’d been messing with and the speakers buzzed as all the mics went out.

Beau winced and hurriedly disentangled her foot, trying to act innocent. The host tapped his mic and frowned, turning to the pulpit of reporters and yelling over their indignant complaints. “Everyone! We have a slight audio issue! We’ll get that fixed right away, please be patient!”

Beau could feel Yasha’s irritated eyes on her and avoided meeting them, choosing instead to look around the room. She spotted blue in a sea of brown and grays and focused for a moment, her vision clearing to the sight of a small tiefling with blue skin and hair, round hips, and a distracted smile. She had a dusting of dark blue freckles on her nose and a bright pink and purple dress covered in frills. She was sitting near the back, clearly not a reporter though probably with someone who was, and was idly kicking her feet as she sketched something in the book in her lap.

“Hey, Yash,” Beau started, elbowing her friend in the arm. “ **Check out the blue cutie with the sketchbook** .” It took her a moment to realize that she hadn’t just heard those words come from her mouth. She’d also heard them coming out of the speakers. She blinked as the room quieted and several people turned to stare at the tiefling who was staring at her. The tiefling didn’t shrink under this new attention and just grinned, waving pleasantly at all the reporters.

Yasha cleared her throat and leaned over to whisper to her. “Mic is on now.”

“ **Yep. It sure fucking is, thanks for that, Yash** .”

The tiefling turned back to her and waved brightly and Beau groaned, embarrassed, as she waved back, slowly lowering her head to the table. Beau refused to look up from then out, flipping off the host when he turned to her with one of the reporters questions. He frowned. “ **Well, it appears that Miss Lionett will not be answering further questions, does anyone have anything to ask the other players?** ”

As she and her teammates were leaving the stage a few minutes later, she was approached by Caleb Widogast, the only reporter she could tolerate because he always asked the poignant soccer related questions instead of getting all up in her personal life. He cleared his throat and held out his hand to shake hers. “Miss Lionett? We have not officially met, I’m-”

“Yeah, I know who you are, Widogast. What do you want? I’m not answering any fucking questions right now.”

“Ah, nein, that’s not-” He paused and reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of sketch pad paper. “I was told to give this to you. From, and I am quoting her here, ‘the blue cutie with the sketchbook’. She was escorted out because they felt that she was a distraction so she was unable to give this to you herself.”

Beau frowned and took the paper. “That’s bullshit, it was my fault, they shouldn’t have made her leave.” She unfolded the paper and found herself looking at… herself. It was an amazing sketch of her at the mic, her expression bored, her black eye looking scarily realistic. Underneath it was a note written in round, curvy letters.

‘Dear Soccer-Lady, I think you’re a cutie too. Love, Jester’ with a phone number jotted quickly underneath it. Yasha read it over her shoulder and gave Beau a congratulatory smack on the back. Beau grinned at her then turned to Caleb, who was waiting awkwardly for a reply to take back. 

“We’re having an afterparty at The Brave Pub in, like, an hour. Tell her to come by if she wants.” She started to move to follow Yasha but then paused and rolled her eyes. “You can come too if you want, but no soccer questions. You can’t write about any of this shit in your article.” Then she continued out through the doors. She waited until she was out of sight of Caleb to grin down at the paper clutched in her fingers and literally jump up off the floor in joy. “Wooo!” she cheered as the locker room turned to stare at her. “I’ve got a date for the after party!” Several of the girls gasped or laughed in disbelief and Beau sneered. “Fuck you guys!”


End file.
